
Glass _3S_Jd_0./ 
Book_ I H thr 



COFXRICHT DEPOSm 



A LOT 0' LOVIN' 

(POEMS) 



By 
CHAUNCEY ROSCOE PIETY 



Copyright, 1917, by Chauncey Roscoe Piety 



6^ \^ 



tlEC 24 !9I7 



The Standard Printing Company 
Louisville, Ky., U. S. A. 



©CI,A479655 



DEDICATED 

TO MY 

FATHER and MOTHER 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE 

A Lot o' Lovin' 7 

Brotherhood 9 

At Lincoln's Grave H 

A Song to the Sangamon 12 

The Man in Over-Alls 13 

Spring Love 14 

Evolution of Love 15 

Baby's Waking 16 

The Child and the Stars 18 

The Power of Suggestion 19 

The Ole Grey-Headed Man 20 

An Evening Song 21 

My Only Wish 22 

George Washington 24 

Discovering Lincoln's Home 25 

Decisive Battles 27 

Dan Cupid 28 

The Song of the Suburbanite 29 

April's Woodland 3O 

Fishing 31 

Autumn 32 

Winter 34 

Snow- Balling 35 

My Bride 36 

To My Wife 37 

Jake Grimes 38 

A Boy's Work 39 

Booker T. Washington 40 

Humanity is One 41 

The Hermit and the Lover 42 

Huntin' Eggs 43 

Chautauqua 44 

Side by Side 45 

A Boy's Grief 46 

My Dream 47 

Preparation 48 

4 



PAGE 

Our Baby 50 

The Present 51 

Before and After 52 

On the Death of an Infant Whose Mother was Dead .... 53 

The Christ 54 

The Resurrection 55 

The Sun and the Soul 56 

. The Victor's Prayer 57 

Life 58 

My Hoosier Kentucky Home 59 

To My Father : 60 

To My Mother 61 

The Box-Supper 62 

Where I Like To Go 64 

Sammy and Lee 65 

To a Dilatory Correspondent 66 

My Brother John 67 

Wooing 69 

Springfield 70 

"We the People" 72 

As To Lying 73 

The Preacher 74 

A Baby 75 

Proportions 76 

To the "Poet of the Sangamon" 77 

On "Lyrics of War and Peace," By Wm. Dudley Foulke. . 78 

The Transfiguration 79 

My Prayer 80 



A LOT O' LOVIN'. 

When a little teensy baby comes in a home to stay, 

All the grown-ups bow before it in a tender sort o* 
way, 

With its purity so winsome, it is a joy and light, 

And the parents, mind and spirit, are wrapped up in 
the mite. 

Sturdily they guard the treasure and give it best o' 
care. 

And caress and love and fondle and bless it every- 
where. 

E'en the neighbors love and kiss it, as though that 
were the style, 

But it takes a lot o' lovin* to make a life worth while. 

When the baby grows to boyhood, or girlhood it may 

be. 
There appears a precious darling that romps and 

laughs with glee; 
Having wit as quick as lightning, and lovely eyes that 

shine. 
And a voice chock full o' sweetness that seems almost 

divine. 
Every parent loves the youngster, and wonders what 

he'll do 
In the years that yet are waiting with tasks all hid from 

view. 
Yes, we love and try to guide him from the dangers 

that beguile, 
And it takes a lot o' lovin' to make a life worth while. 



Then there come the youth and maiden along Hfe'a 

happy road; 
Hardly have they known a sorrow or borne a heavy 

load; 
But of parents in the shadow they are the joy and 

pride, 
For their love o' them is dearer than anything beside. 
And the youth and maid are lovers of a vig'rous type 

and pure, 
Who are courting, cooing, planning to make that love 

endure; 
And there follow Cupid kisses and many a blush and 

smile, 
But it takes a lot of lovin' to make two lives worth 

while. 

Many people are not living, but merely do exist, 

In the way of greed and lusting they will stubbornly 

persist, 
"Beauty, music, love and ethics are vague and vain," 

they say, 
"Spirit gold is nought but fancy, and nothing will it 

pay." 
Rise, O men, and look about you on the earth and 

sea and sky; 
There is beauty, there is music, and lives of gold 

nearby. 
Love, and love will be your blessing upon life's every 

mile. 
But it takes a lot o' lovin' to make a life worth while. 



BROTHERHOOD. 

There's a word of matchless meaning we should pub- 
lish round the world — 
Brotherhood; 
It would grace the greatest banner that has ever been 
unfurled — 

Brotherhood; 
*Tis a motto from our Father for his children here 

below; 
Through the church it sweetly echoes while the ages 

come and go; 
Hear, O man, and spread the tidings till the entire 
race shall know — 

Brotherhood. 

Send the slogan gayly ringing through the homes of 
ev'ry land — 

Brotherhood; 
Sing it in the humble cottage, shout it in the mansion 

grand 

Brotherhood; 
Sing it, shout it, send it flying through our troubled 

social life 
Where that greed and lust are preying, and w^here 

hate and pride are rife; 
It is Heaven's holy concord to supplant our human 
strife — 

Brotherhood. 

Bear this word of mighty import all the world of busi- 
ness through — 

Brotherhood; 
Take it to the big employers, and the labor unions 
too — 

Brotherhood; 
Teach it to the avaricious that are grasping after gain, 
All whose gold, when it is gotten, wears a loathsome 

bloody stain; 
It will make the rich man happy, and remove the 
poor man's chain — 

Brotherhood. 



Cry aloud to ruled and rulers the sweet signal of good 
cheer — 

Brotherhood; 
Preach it to the whole creation, till all nations pause 

and hear 

Brotherhood; 
We will banish war forever from the land and from 

the sea, 
And the countries all shall prosper, and the people 

all be free. 
When mankind shall dwell together in this bond of 
unity — 

Brotherhood. 



10 



AT LINCOLN'S GRAVE. 

I stood and mused by Lincoln's grave; 

'Twas on Memorial Day, 
And up the hill a former slave 

Did slowly wend his way. 

The man was old and feeble quite, 
But black as black could be, 

Except his head was snowy white; 
And on a cane leaned he. 

And by him walked a boy of nine, 

A grandchild, so he said, 
Who bore a wreath of roses fine 

As tribute to the dead. 

They paused beside the iron bars 
That guard the vault of death. 

And hung on them the pretty flowers 
With sweetly scented breath. 

Then passing 'round the monument 
Where Lincoln's statue is, 

He told the boy just what it meant 
In that quaint way of his. 

And when he bowed his hoary head, 
And whispered o'er a prayer. 

It seemed as though that statue dread 
Was bowing down up there. 

And soon my tears were welling fast. 

And I was praying too; 
For all my soul was overcast 

By this great lesson true! 

The path of glory Lincoln trod 
Was service and true love; 

While helping man he held to God, 
Who lifted him above. 



11 



A SONG TO THE SANGAMON. 

Silvery Sangamon, 

Moving in majesty 
Through the rich prairies of fair Illinois; 

Nature hath honor done, 

Lining thee royally 
With her green grasses and blossoms of joy. 

Marked is thy courtesy. 
Striving not, brawling not, 

Wending thy busy way earnestly on; 
Peacefully passing by 
Mansion and farmer's cot. 

Solemn in shadow and smiling in sun. 

Great is thy usefulness, 

Bearing the water back 
When overflowing it threatens the grain; 

Bringing thy boon to us. 

Giving what cities lack — 
Blessing of Heaven, we bless thee again. 

Historic Sangamon, 

River that Lincoln knew, 
We and our w^orks are passing away; 

Still thou art flowing on. 

Doing thy duty true. 
Blessing old Illinois day after day. 



[Reprinted through courtesy of Munsey's Magazine.] 



12 



THE MAN IN OVER-ALLS. 

Awake, my Muse, we shall proclaim 
A hero long unknown to fame. 
But one who merits honored place 
Among immortals of the race — 
The Man in Over-Alls. 

Who is it makes our homes and roads, 
And carries all our crushing loads? 
On smoking train or steamer tossed, 
Who find we working at his post? 
The Man in Over-Alls. 

In factory dirt and foundry heat 
Who lays his life at Labor's feet, 
And bids her use it as she w^ill 
To turn the old world's might mill? 
The Man in Over-Alls. 

Down in the mines so dark and dank 
Who works away with scarce a thank? 
Who on the farm produces food 
To feed the hungry multitude? 
The Man in Over-Alls. 

When armies meet in deadly strife 
No braver soldier gives his life. 
In private w^alk and public trust 
He proves him faithful, true, and just- 
The Man in Over-Alls. 



13 



SPRING LOVE. 

'Tis spring, 'tis spring. 
The songbirds sing, 

Singing of love 

In the greenwood grove 
On the hills of Hoosier Kentucky. 

The wild-flowers bloom. 
Dispelling gloom, 

Blooming for love 

Where'er I rove 
O'er the hills of Hoosier Kentucky. 

I pause and dream 
By Turman's stream, 

Dreaming of love 

Like a brooding dove 
*Mong the hills of Hoosier Kentucky. 

But there's a cot 
I've not forgot, 

Holding the love 

I'm dreaming of. 
Yes, a cot in Hoosier Kentucky. 



14 



EVOLUTION OF LOVE. 

The glad girl so vivacious and sweet, 

And as pure as a lily of white, 
Had thought that her love was complete 

As she promised her suitor that night. 

But when they were wed and alone, 

And her husband had pressed her fair form 
To his heart as a wife, love had grown 

Like a flower in full bloom from the corm . 

And when came a dear helpless wee thing 
With a cry its young mother to greet. 

It seemed that she heard angels sing. 

And her love and her joy were complete. 



15 



BABY'S WAKING. 

Mamma, watch the covers there, 
See them moving, I declare! 
What is in that baby bed? 
Papa's wee sweet sleepy-head? 
Oh no, oh no, see those eyes. 
Blue and bright as summer skies! 
You want Papa to take you? 
Give me hands, ah, sure you do. 
Now! are you your Papa's child? 
Looked like Mamma when you smiled 1 

Yes, she's Papa's playmate. 

Pretty, pretty playmate; 

Just a little lady. 

Lovely little lady. 

Little laughing lady. 

Lovely laughing lady. 

Papa's lady-love, 

Mamma's darling-dove, 
Blue-eyed star, 
Yes, you are! 
Mamma wants to get her! 
No, we will not let her! 

Say, you merry mischief you. 
What is in those eyes of blue? 
Have you come from Fairyland? 
Tell me 'bout the fairy band; 
Just how many have you seen? 
You must be the fairy queen! 
Come to bless us, I suppose — 
Richer blessings no one knows: 
Holy, humble, blithe, and gay, 
Cheering us along life's w^ay. 

Yes, she's Papa's playmate, 

Pretty, pretty playmate; 

Just a little lady. 

Lovely little lady. 

Little laughing lady. 

Lovely laughing lady, 

Papa's lady-love, 



16 



Mamma's darling-dove, 

Blue-eyed star, 

Yes, you are! 
Mamma wants to get her! 
No, we will not let her! 

"Jabber, jabber," you talk young; 
That must be the fairy tongue 
Which they speak among themselves. 
Did you learn it from the elves? 
You old giggling, tow^-head girl, 
Tell me why that hair won't curl. 
There; another tooth is through; 
Want some dinner? Bet you do! 

Yes, she's Papa's playmate, 

Pretty, pretty playmate, 

Just a little lady. 

Lovely little lady. 

Little laughing lady, 

Lovely laughing lady. 

Papa's lady-love. 

Mamma's darling-dove. 
Blue-eyed star. 
Yes, you are! 
Mamma, guess you need her, 
You may take and feed her. 



17 



THE CHILD AND THE STARS. 

I taught my little four-year-old 
To know the stars with me; 

I took her to my sky-room oft, 
And held her on my knee. 

And pointed out God's Dipper bright. 
And Swan, and "Teddy" Bear; 

Also the Crown of little stars. 
The one like angels wear. 

Her laugh was music to my ears; 

To please her more I moved 
The telescope to Viga's face, 

Bright Viga that she loved: 

"God's home is beautiful," said she, 

*Td love to live up there; 
I want to be on Viga though, 

I told him in my prayer." 

I hugged my little daughter close 
And kissed her snow-white brow. 

And said, "You may go some time dear, 
But Father w^ants you now." 

Oh, God, she's gone; her body rests 

Beneath the stars tonight; 
Oh, shall it be in Thy good time 

V/e'll meet on Viga bright? 



18 



THE POWER OF SUGGESTION. 

It was ten within the court-room, 

And the clock upon the w^all 
Had proclaimed its dreadful message. 

And the courters heard it all. 

Henry took the hand of Edna 

Just to say a calm good-bye; 
But he somehow w^as attracted 

By the twinkle in her eye; 

And he whispered, *'Let me kiss you," 
Edna, blushing, shook her head; 

"Why?" gasped Henry, blushing also; 
"Folks might see us now," she said. 

Then they stood and talked as low^ly, 
Still a-holding hands, you know. 

Feasting on Love's smiles and blushes 
For a half an hour or so. 

Edna sweetly said to Henry, 

"Guess nobody is around;" 
I can never tell what happened, 

But you should have heard the sound! 



19 



THE OLE GREY-HEADED MAN. 

Some one wuz in our pantry 
A-eatin* pie an' cake, 

An' Ma ist scolded awful, 
An' it wuz me an' Jake; 

But we ist won't confess, 

An' Ma she said she guess 

Tuz the Ole Grey-Headed Man. 

An* Jake an' me w^uz fightin' 
Wiv pillers on the bed, 

An' when I went to hit *im, 
I braked a vase instead; 

But we don't never tell. 

An' our Ma said, "Ah, well, 

Tuz the Ole Grey-Headed Man." 

An' w^unst w^hen we w^uz flyin* 
On top the chicken house, 

Jake braked her umberella. 
An' nen ist like a mouse, 

He slipped it back, you know. 
An' Ma wuz mad, my oh! 

At the Ole Grey-Headed Man. 

An' wunst Pa put a melon 
Out in the water trough. 

An' Jake an' me espied it. 
An' went and tuck it off. 

An' Pa asked, "Who done that?" 
An* we boff said we bet 

Tuz the Ole Grey-Headed Man. 

Nen Pa he got a hick'ry. 

An* we commenced to cry; 

An' he said he surspected 
'At w^e w^uz that 'air guy; 

An* nen we promised him 
We never will again 

Be the Ole Grey-Headed Man. 

[Reprinted through courtesy of the Rhodeheaver Co.] 

20 



AN EVENING SONG. 

I am drifting down the stream 
Where the moonbeams gently gleam, 
And mosquito banjoes ring 
With a ting, a-ting, a-ting, 
Very near; 
And the orchestra of evening 
With the weirdest music heaving 
Greets my ear. 

Here the silv'ry beams of night 
Fleck the water with their light 
While the frogs of ev'ry size 
Train their trombones on the skies 
With a vim; 
And the whippoorwill with passion 
In a most bewitching fashion 
Sings an hymn. 

And I sit and w^onder why 
This mysterious melody; 

But perchance 'tis praise and prayer, 
For a blue crane over there 
Shouts, "Amen;" 
And the dappled w^aters glisten 
As I bow my head and listen 
Once again. 



21 



MY ONLY WISH. 

(A reply to Edgar A. Guest's poem, **A Wish.") 

I love to dream of childhood time, when I was free 
as wildw^ood thyme: 
With Mem'ry hand in hand I tread the hills and 
dales once more; 
I wear a common shirt of blue and over-alls all dirty, 
too, 
And on my feet no sign of shoe, and hatless as 
before; 
With Rover and my line and hook I fish along the 
Stinely brook. 
Or take my ease upon a bank where wild straw- 
berries grow; 
Then wander home at supper time to meal that seems 
from upper clime. 
And sit with loved ones round the board as in the 
long ago. 

1 love to dream of youth again, and all my joy in 
truth again. 
And thank God for the heaping measure he has 
given me; 
1 fancy I'm in school again, rejoice to break the rule 
again. 
And then I fall in love again with pretty Kate 
Magee; 
I give her apples sweet sometimes, and write her notes 
complete with rhymes, 
And Katie, blushing, smiles her love just as she 
used to do. 
Oh yes, I keep on wooing her, for it is joy pursuing 
her— 
She says that it was joy to her — now both are 
happy too. 

I love to dream of joyful days, of childhood time and 
youthful ways; 
But could I choose, I would not tread the blessed 
path again; 

11 



I only wish I might recall the hours when I made 
Right to fall, 
And live them o'er with conscience clear, nor leave 
a single stain; 
But God gives gladness all the time, and every day 
I call sublime, 
And with His kindly aid I hope to reap abundant 
store 
To tide me through the weary hours, and cheer me 
in the dreary hours. 
And have a fund of joy to give and keep forever- 
more. 



23 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

Now honor we the gallant Washington, 
For sturdily he strove with angry Fate, 
And safely launched our splendid Ship of State. 

Yea, when the battle smoke beclouded sun 

He led the dangerous charge and vict'ry won. 
With marv'lous tact he made the little great, 
And proved himself a mighty man innate 

With life unsullied still when tasks were done. 

Though worthy of these honors we bestow, 
They cannot benefit heroic dead; 

We bring them then as ideal seed to sow 

In humble hearts of boys and girls instead. 

That they in nobleness may rise and grow. 
The greatest race Old Glory ever led. 



24 



DISCOVERING LINCOLN'S HOME. 

(As Told to a Boy.) 

Walking eastward down on Jackson, 

Seeing Springfield, Illinois, 
There I came upon a dwelling, 

Just a common frame, my boy. 

'Twas a plain, two-story building 

Like the others in the row. 
And I paid it small attention. 

Nearly passing by, you know. 

But there on a pole beside it. 
Flapping proudly in the breeze, 

I beheld a starry banner, 

And a cannon 'neath the trees. 

So I stopped to look a moment. 

Wondering what those things could mean. 
When I caught the name of LINCOLN 

On a tablet by the screen! 

That was once the Lincoln homestead! 

How my being thrilled with awe 
As I gazed upon the structure 

Which before I hardly saw! 

He had lived there when a lawyer 

Ere he went to Washington; 
That explained the starry banner, 

And the ugly cannon gun. 

For the sovereign state is keeping 

That old building in repair, 
And some relatives of Lincoln 

Are at present living there. 

Yes, they let me in to see it, 

And I passed from room to room. 

Thinking how Abe Lincoln's glory 
Still survives the darksome tomb. 

25 



No, my boy, it isn't riches 

That will make a fellow great. 

Nor a college education, 
Nor a predetermined fate; 

But a heart for honest service. 

And the brain and brawn to toil; 

These things made the mighty Lincoln, 

And will make you . . . Give them trial. 



26 



DECISIVE BATTLES. 

Great is the list, 

As men insist, 

Of decisive battles fought; 

On many a field 

With sword and shield 

Courageous ones have wrought. 

And red Waterloo, 

And Gettysburg too 

Were prizes dearly bought. 

But through the years 

A battle appears 

Greater by far than these; 

'Twas fought and won 

By God's dear Son 

In the garden on His knees. 

This hero so great 

Has ne'er a mate 

On all the land or seas. 

And those who win 

In the strife with sin 

Must fight like Him alone; 

And every soul 

Learn self-control. 

Praying, "Thy will be done;" 

For the glory track 

Which turns not back 

Leads up to Heaven's throne. 



27 



DAN CUPID. 

Dan Cupid is a little mite, 

But folks sez he goes out at night 

And shoots around wiv these here darts, 

An' sends 'em straight through lovers* hearts. 

Pa says his arm is powerful strong. 

An' makes 'em darts ist whiz along, 

If beaux and girls agin to kiss; 

But tother night Ize watchin' Sis* 

An* Herman Clark a-through a crack. 

And they ist maked their moufs go smack, 

And Cupid didn't shoot a bit. 

Least ways his ole darts didn't hit; 

'Cause Sis' an' Herm' ist set and smile, 

An' kiss agin nen after while. 



28 



THE SONG OF THE SUBURBANITE. 

Along the outer edge of things, 

Of the town and country-side, 
I own a house and lot, by jings. 

And there's where I abide. 
While one man lauds the avenue, 

And one his fertile farm, 
I wink both eyes and look goo-goo, 

And take each by the arm; 
I've got the best of both in one, 

And neither seems to see; 
But there's no spot beneath the sun 

Like my suburb home to me. 



29 



APRIL'S WOODLAND. 

I wandered through a woodland fair 

Upon an April's day; 
That Nature's garb was grand or rare 

Is not enough to say. 

The earth was gowned in velvet green, 

The sky in silk so blue; 
The sun wore mail of golden sheen, 

And seemed a-wooing too. 

He kissed the wildflowers, little fays, 
That dwell in glade and glen; 

They danced about with pretty rays, 
And perfume proffered him. 

He lavished gold on stream and lake; 

The w;avelets gleamed w^ith glee, 
And vapor gave with which to make 

Some cloudlets fair and free. 

He smiled on song-birds, and they sang. 
With all their might and main. 

And hill and vale and w^ildwood rang 
With the sweet ecstatic strain. 

He caused the stately forest kings 

To put on togg'ry proud. 
And all the wary woodland things 

To laugh and talk out loud; 

The breeze their messenger they made 

To bear the news so gay. 
And o'er the hill and through the glade 

He rushed the livelong day. 

Oh pretty scenes that ne'er knew paints. 

Oh poetry unpenned. 
And sweet songs sung by woodland saints. 

Ye are God's gifts unfeigned. 



30 



FISHING. 

I am fishing beyond the barn 

In the slough that the Wabash fills 

When the rains from the plains and hills 

Overspread 

Its bed, 

And make of the forest a tarn. 

I am barefoot and hatless too, 

And I hold a cotton-wood pole. 

And a string on the thing takes toll 

Of the bass 

That pass; 

For my hook is both sharp and new. 

Yes, I throw out my line once more. 

And with eye on the cork I wait 

With delight as they bite my bait; 

Then "Swish!" 

Comes the fish. 

And I dance for joy on the shore. 

'Tis the joy that my boyhood reaped, 

And I've stored it in mem'ry's bin 

Just to lift and to sift again; 

And I smile 

The while, 

For youth into age has creeped. 



31 



AUTUMN. 

When the forest takes the rainbow for the girdle of 

her gown, 
And persimmons, nuts and paw-paws from her hands 

are dropping down; 
When the golden-rod and boneset bloom in all the 

roadside nooks. 
And the school-bell every morning calls the children 

to their books. 
There's a thrill and inspiration in the very life of 

things 
That no matter what you call it there's no time but 

Autumn brings. 

Then you hear the kind of music that you love to 

listen to; 
All the feathered choirs assemble just to sing their 

songs for you, 
And the pigs and sheep at evening and the cow-bell 

down the lane. 
And the poultry in the barn-yard join the glorious 

refrain; 
Oh I know it isn't classic like your orchestra or band, 
Yet no other time but Autumn puts anything so 

grand. 

Then the whole immense creation in the rosy light of 

daw^n 
Is a gallery of pictures for the eye to feast upon; 
No, I cannot name 'em over for 'twould take too long 

to do. 
And you'll never 'preciate 'em till you've been and 

seen 'em too; 
But there's nothing on the canvas that will satisfy 

me so 
As these really truly pictures which old Autumn has 

to show. 



32 



Farmers have their fields in order for to sow their 

wheat and rye, 
And the corn-crop must be gathered in the early by 

and by; 
They are filling up the cellars with potatoes, apples, 

pears. 
And the rows of canned-up-sweet-things which the 

women claim as theirs; 
Yes, it starts my mouth to water, and I needn't write 

the rest, 
But I'm sure of all the seasons that our God loves 

Autumn best. 



33 



WINTER. 

Out of the caves of ice and snow, 
Over the paves of the Esquimau, 

Stealthily creeping 

While we are sleeping. 

Silently setting 

Silvery netting 
On every hill, with banners unfurled 
Winter with skill besieges our world. 

Howe'er we fight and fret and toil, 
The net draws tight, encircling spoil. 

Fruits that are luscious, 

Vegetables precious. 

Flowers of rare fragrance, 

Domestics and vagrants 
He crushes to death and leaves on the sand; 
And frights with his breath the birds from the land. 

Then in his w^rath with arrows of sleet 
Pursues he the path to ruin complete, 

Shrieking and yelling, 

Storming the dwelling 

Of beast and mortal. 

Icing the portal, 
Fiercely he sneers and dares life out; 
And loudly he jeers and howls about. 

But it w^ould seem that in the night 
He has a dream of peace and right; 

Quickly relenting. 

Meekly repenting. 

Softly and lightly. 

Ever so whitely 
With banner of truce he covers our woe; 
And him we excuse and thank for the snow. 



34 



SNOW-BALLING. 

Our new school teacher boards with Ma, 

An' she won't let ye snow-ball law! 

An' tother day she licked me too, 

'Cause 1 snow-balled that Nellie Blue; 

But 1 sez, "Now whin she comes home 

She's not a-goin' to lick me none, 

An' nen I'll have my vingeance too: 

I'll snow-ball her, that's what I'll do." 

An' so 1 hid till she come in. 

An' jist made snow-balls fly like sin; 

But she set out an' chased me down, 

An' washed my face and scoured aroun' 

Until my hide's put nigh all off. 

An' nen she maked me say "Enough;** 

An' I went right an* told my Pa, 

But he jist laft and sez, "Ha, ha!" 

But bet I figger out a way 

To pay her back some other day. 



35 



MY BRIDE. 

Thou art pure as a pearly snow-flake 
Wafted down from the wintry sky, 

And clearer than sunkissed dew-drop 
Is the light of thy merry blue eye. 

Thy face is more fair than the rose 
That blesses the balmy June breeze, 

And lovelier thy form than a nymph 
Of far away enchanted seas. 

Thou art trustful, confiding, and true 
To me so unworthy and weak, 

And thy manners magnetic with love 
Betoken the blessings I seek. 

But here at the altar, my Bride, 
1 tremble to take thy dear hand, 

For much that the future doth hold 
Thou canst not as yet understand. 

Oh, God, thou hast given this soul. 

And I pray that it ne'er shall know stain; 

And help us to so live and love 

That our living shall not be in vain. 



36 



TO MY WIFE. 

The poets honor the maiden fair, 

And the bride with roses in her hair; 
But prone somehow are they to forget 

That the patient wife loves praises yet. 
I see my mate as she used to be 

When only a happy girl and free; 
And then, the beautiful white veiled bride. 

When we were young, standing at my side. 

But now she is Mother, housekeeper, wife; 

And the love she plighted is proved in life; 
Day after day 'tis the same routine; 

She trains the children, and keeps them clean, 
And feeds the baby at her breast. 

Washes, mends, and cooks for the rest; 
And every night with a kiss and prayer 

She commits each one to Jehovah's care. 

Yes, 1 loved the girl and loved the bride; 

But more 1 love the wife at my side. 
She's endeared to me by the fleeting years. 

By all our pleasure, toil, and tears, 
By the matchless charm of a love proved true, 

And the lovely children about us too; 
So I laud a loyal and faithful wife. 

Praying God to bless and prolong her life. 



37 



JAKE GRIMES. 

Jake Grimes is awf'lest man to swear, 
And t'other day he come up here, 

And Pa don't 'low no swearin' round; 

But he was in our yard a-coming through, 

An' our ole Bull-dog spied 'im too. 

An' he is streaked it cross the ground. 

An' Jake he seen ole Rove an' run. 
An' nen I heerd some swearin' done; 

For he climbed up a peach-tree there, 
And Rover ranted round like w^ild. 

An' Jake I guess was awful riled, 

'Cause my but he did cuss and swear! 

An' Pa he heerd 'em from the shed, 
An' hollered out to Rove and said 

For him to go lay by the door; 

An' nen he tole Jake Grimes, you know, 

'At's what he got for swearin' so, 

An' next time Rove 'ud get 'im shore. 



38 



A BOY'S WORK. 

Many men ignore the boy — 
Say his life is full of joy. 
And forget he has to work 
Harder than a heathen Turk. 

I was once a boy, you know, 
In the dear days long ago; 
And if anybody asks, 
I can recollect some tasks: 

Had to turn the grindstone, say! 
While my Pa or some hired jay 
Leaned upon a scythe or ax 
Till I melted into wax! 

Every morning went to get 
Cows and horses through the wet; 
Scared them up and warmed my feet 
In the beds that they gave heat. 

And with hoe I had to hew 
Mullein, thistles, burdock, too. 
Till I'd tumble down and rest, 
Wond'ring why God made such pests! 

Then each week it came my turn, 
Staying round to help Ma churn; 
And to mind the baby, John, 
While she got the washing done. 

Always carried in the wood. 
Dried the dishes like boys should 

When their Ma has got no girl 

Yes, you bet I made things whirl! 

So when some is faulting boys 
And recounting all their joys, 
I would just remind them then 
Some boys work as hard as men. 



39 



BOOKER T. WASHINGTON. 

I sing of him who up from slavery came. 

Though cradled low in ignorance and poverty, 
He grew, and when his godlike powers w^ere free 

Ambition fanned them to a sacred flame, 
That he might rise and rid his race of shame; 

So trampling thorns of prejudice and hate 
He seized the diamond pen from stubborn fate, 

And wrote therewith a glowing, deathless name. 

He was a Moses of the modern mold. 

Who strove to lead his race to Canaan's land 

Of knowledge, power, and wealth surpassing gold. 
And leading fell on Pisgah's mountain grand; 

But millions whom his mighty life made bold 

Shall press the light and reach the goal he planned. 



40 



HUMANITY IS ONE. 

Humanity is one, and every man a brother 

Who cannot live to self, but helps or harms another. 

Humanity is one, and he who skyward rushes 

Will fall to pits of gloom, if some weak soul he crushes. 

Humanity is one, and he who wins the battle 

Will help the wounded men, in spite of roar and rattle. 

Humanity is one, and God above is Father; 

And those who honor Him must live for one another. 



41 



THE HERMIT AND THE LOVER. 

The Hermit said, "I will hide away, 

And worship my Lord both night and day; 

In a humble shanty will I dwell 

Afar from men in the mad world's hell; 

I'll be so faithful and free from sin 
That a jeweled crown at last I'll %vin." 

The Lover of Men went out in the throng, 
And lived a life as sweet as a song; 

He helped the weak and the weary to rise, 
And told them of mansions in the skies; 

Their hearts were touched by his hand of love, 
And they took the way to Heaven above. 

The Hermit Saint and the Lover stood 
Before the throne of the mighty God! 

To the first He said, "Depart this day. 
For I was in need, and you hid away!" 

And then from His throne the Lord came down, 
And gave the Lover a jeweled crown. 

[Reprinted through courtesy of the Rhodeheaver Co.] 



42 



HUNTIN- EGGS. 

Last summer when tuz nice an' warm 

I went across to our big barn, 
An' they's some hens laid under there 

Way back where Pa an' Ma can't get; 
But I sez I can go to v/here 

Them eggs is at back there, I bet. 

An' so I hunker down an' crawl 
To where's a grea' big sill an' all 

Wite so 1 can't get under it; 

But nen I claw^s some dirt aw^ay, 

An' put my head through just a bit, 
But seemed to me tuz there to stay. 

When I pulled back it ketched my ears, 
An' made me shed some angry tears. 

An* kick an' call fer Ma to come; 
But she don't hear, so last I got 

My head back through, an' nen went home, 
An' left 'em onry eggs to rot. 



43 



CHAUTAUQUA. 

Chautauqua is a great big word, 

At first 'twas hard to say; 
But now we have the hang of it, 

And speak it every day. 

It's proving welcome far and near 

To old and young alike; 
And when the canvas tent is spread 

The people throng the pike. 

They leave their toil and care behind 

To feast on wholesome fun, 
And drink the music's sweetness in, 

And hear great speaking done. 

And when Chautauqua season's o'er 

The folks are all made new; 
Their blues are gone, the weak are strong. 

And work seems easy, too. 

They lift the load of life again, 

And bear it on with grace; 
Their spirits climb and visions lead 

To an exalted place. 



44 



SIDE BY SIDE. 

They sat side by side in the moonlight, 

A youth and a maiden coy; 
Ohtimes they had spent hours together. 

But ne'er had they known such joy; 
The maid to the youth was a fairy, 

The youth to the maid a king; 
Each thrilled with love's current electric 

As he placed the engagement ring. 

They knelt side by side at the altar, 

A bridegroom and bride most fair; 
The chapel was thronged with their kinfolk, 

And roses perfumed the air; 
He vowed he would be her true husband; 

She promised to be his wife; 
The pastor pronounced them united, 

And wished them a long, happy life. 

They walked side by side down life's pathway, 

A father and mother true; 
And each bore a share of the burdens, 

And loved the longest days through. 
Their joy was supreme in their children, 

Their thoughts of good things to come; 
Their dwelling, though humble, was happy, 

And truly a "home, sweet home." 

They sat side by side near the hearthstone, 

A grandpa and grandma gray; 
And watched their own grandchildren playing — 

As fair as the new-born day. 
They thought of the past with its pleasures. 

And labor and care and pain; 
But love they had sown in life's springtime 

Had ripened in golden grain. 



45 



A BOY'S GRIEF. 

I'm mad and sad, 

And can't get glad, 

And I don't know what to do; 

They won't give me a thing I want. 

And Papa spanked me too! 

I'd run away 

This very day, 

But I don't know v/here to go 

To keep the cops that watch around 

From bringing me back, you know. 

I wish I'd die. 

And the folks 'ud cry 

A month or more for me; 

If I knew it wouldn't hurt too bad, 

I'd hang myself to a tree. 

Hurrah! hurrah! 

There comes Grandpa; 

He's brought me a brand new sled; 

It's better to be alive, I guess. 

Than just forever dead. 



45 



MY DREAM. 

Would you hear my recent dream? 

I was riding on a stream, 

And my row-boat ran a-ground; 

So I stood to look around, 

And behold! the waters there 

Teemed w^ith serpents far and near. 

Some were large and some were small; 

But they hissed and sputtered all, 

Writhing, wriggling in the water, 

Rolling, rising in their anger 

Slimy, squirming, seething devils. 

Forked tongued, portending evils; 

And I fought them with my oar. 

But they came a million more, 

And in spite of all my mauling 

In my boat the beasts were crawling — 

I could feel them coldly creeping up each shin- 

What infernal hellish horror I was in! 

But there was no help in sight, 

And the fiends began to bite; 

All the horde of hungry things 

Tore my flesh with venomed fangs; 

And 1 screamed and kicked with fury, 

But my good wife in a hurry 

Woke me up. 



47 



PREPARATION. 

Just remember what I say, 
One thing alluz shore to pay; 
Matters not what work you do, 
You need it to pull you through — 
Preparation. 

Wunst my auto wouldn't go, 
And 1 worked an hour or so — 
Young machinist made 'er hum 
In ten seconds when he'd come — 
Preparation. 

When the lights at church went out 
They wuz lots uv folks about, 
But the janitor hed gone; 
And no one could turn 'em on — 
Preparation. 

Here's a man that sought a job, 
But he couldn't turn the nob; 
'Nother feller come along. 

Got the work just like a song 

Preparation. 

There's the sergen with his knife. 
He knows how to spare the life 
While he makes a sort o' gash, 
And gets out the patient's cash — 
Preparation. 

Heerd a brass band tother day. 
Simply grand how they could play; 
But they's plenty folks I know 
Couldn't make a band horn blow — 
Preparation. 



48 



Just you watch the orator 
Hold the audience in his pow'r 
While they weep and laugh and think; 
You can tell it quick as wink — 
Preparation. 

Yes, an' I'm quite sure I've read 

Sommers 'at the Saviour said, 

"Folks as go through Heaven's gate 

Haf to clean up sure as fate" 

Preparation. 



49 



OUR BABY. 

"I'm Mamma's teet darlin' an' Papa's dood boy," 

Comes now from our baby, Love's sweetest envoy, 

As he bounds from his playthings in rapturous glee 
To tell this dear message to Mamma and me. 

His cheeks are tinged rosy, his sweet lips are red, 
His teeth are like pearls, and all curly his head; 

He has laughing blue eyes and complexion most fair, 
And dear little voice — our own jewel so rare. 

My heart is o'erfilled by a glimpse of his face; 

I clasp the wee man in a tender embrace; 
And God only can measure the blessings that flow 

From his innocent soul with its lovelight aglow. 

Dear Lord, take our thanks and spare him through 
manhood. 

And help us to train him up useful and good; 
And may this same thought ever sweeten his joy: 

He's Mamma's sweet darling and Papa's good boy. 



50 



THE PRESENT. 

Said Katie Magee, 
"John is coming, I see; 
He's a man of true worth. 
None better on earth; 
But you know I feel queer, 
It has just been a year 
Since first that we met, 
And I cannot forget 
The love he has shown 
When w^e were alone. 
And last he \yas here 
He promised, oh dear! 
A present to bring; 
And I'll bet it's a ring. 

Hello, John, come in; 

Oh, there is a pin 

Point toward me, I vow! 

That means good luck now. 

Here's the settee; 

Will you share it with me? 

I've been thinking of you; 

Yes, a great deal, too. 

I get lonesome, you know, 

Ere a long week can go. 

That present you've brought! 

I supposed you'd forgot. 

You don't know the size! 

Why, John, you surprise — 

My finger to fit! 

You excite me a bit. 

" 'Tis silver," you say? 

Sure, that is O. K. 

**A thimble," oh, quick! 

Call Mother, I'm sick!" 



51 



BEFORE AND AFTER. 

Before they were wed 

The maid, it is said, 

Adored a lock of his hair; 

But when they were married 

The maid never tarried 

Till the top of his head was bare. 



52 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT WHOSE 
MOTHER WAS DEAD. 

Baby lying cold and still, 
It is not thy Father's will 

That thou e'er shouldst perish; 
But with the Christ above, 
Where all is light and love, 

Holy angels cherish 
Thy sweet and sinless soul. 
And shall while ages roll. 

Safe art thou forever. 

Gone to be with mother 

Where she shall caress thee, 
And the Saviour bless thee; 

And with the hosts of glory 

Thou'lt greet us by and by. 



53 



THE CHRIST. 

The loving Christ is All in all, 

The prophets' Dream, 

The gospel Theme, 
The One who did not sin and fall. 

He is the Center of all things 

In history. 

And e'er shall be; 
For through Him live both men and kings. 

And when our earthly houses fall 

He is our Hope 

The skies to ope; 
The loving Christ is All in all. 



54 



THE RESURRECTION. 

Retreating rays of evening's crimson sun 

Had kissed the body of the thorn-crowned One, 

And his disciples bore it sadly to the tomb; 

Then came the night of ruthless grief and gloom. 

Meantime the Jews with Pilate spake, "This man 

While living taught that He would rise again; 

Give us, therefore, a guard the grave to seal, 

And watch till morn, lest his disciples steal 

His corpse and say He lives and make Him God." 

The Gov'nor gave assent, and soldiers stood 

About the tomb. A million silver stars 

Looked on that scene with eyes brimful of tears; 

The frost crept silently o'er hill and vale; 

The moonbeams glistened on the Roman mail. 

And lit the seal of Caesar on the stone. 

And all was silent save the guard alone, 

A soldier spoke, "How vain to place us here, 

His poor and frightened friends will not appear, 

And we expose ourselves to damp and chill; 

Why watch the dead?" Then came a piercing thrill; 

Celestial glory flooded all the dome of night; 

And suddenly a dazzling flame of light 

Shot forth toward the tomb — one friend alone. 

Who feared not guard nor seal, rolled back the stone, 

And sat upon it, peering keenly round 

While Rome's brave soldiers fell upon the ground. 

And Christ in His transcendent glory rose, 

Eternal Victor over death and foes. 



55 



THE SUN AND THE SOUL. 

The sun is sinking in the west 

Among the clouds of golden light; 

The death of Day is drawing near, 
The Dark which men call night. 

The sun shall rise tomorrow morn 
To grace a greater, grander day; 

And when he shows his smiling face, 
The Dark shall flee away. 

A saint of God is sinking low 

Among the laurels he has won; 

And as the somber curtain falls, 
He hears a glad "Well done." 

He too shall rise tomorrow morn 
To stand upon the hills of Day; 

For when the Saviour's trumpet sounds, 
Then Death shall flee away. 



56 



THE VICTOR'S PRAYER. 

The night o'er old Jerusalem 

Grew dark and darker still, 
When Jesus and His followers 

Went out to Olive's hill. 

He knew the maddened mob would come, 
And drag Him back for trial; 

He foreknew all their buffetings, 
And all their mockings vile. 

He saw loom up that cruel cross 
Which meant His awful death, 

And as the shadows blacker grew 
He prayed with fevered breath: 

'Father, if thou be willing now, 

Remove this cup from me; 
Yet not my will, but Thine be done," 

He cried in agony. 

That pray'r divine the Father heard. 
And gave Him strength anew 

To face His w^icked foes and death, 
And overcome them, too. 

And every one who prays that pray'r 

From out an honest heart, 
Shall triumph in the war for right ' 

In spite of Satan's dart. 



57 



LIFE. 

(A Reply to Ella Wheeler Wilcox's Poem, "Life.") 

All in the dark they grope along 

Who own not Christ divine; 
In ignorance they do the wrong, 

And suffer" sure decline. 

But Jesus' light upon a thought 

Reveals the wrong or right; 
To follow Him forget it not 

Is to ascend the height. 

For Christ alone no error made, 

And this old earth he trod 
To blaze a path through light and shade 

To guide iTiankind to God. 

But Krishna, Buddha, and their kin 

Are heathen heroes old 
Who bear the marks of mortal sin 

Like dross among the gold. 

'Tis sad we miss the Saviour's way, 
And waste our strength and time; 

For we should shun the miry clay, 
If we would be sublime. 

For He who weighs an hundred fold 

On God's eternal scales. 
Tells all his weight in deeds of gold. 

And nought of dross avails. 



58 



MY HOOSIER KENTUCKY HOME. 

Fair Hoosier^ Kentucky, my childhood's dear home, 
How oft in my fancy thy wild ways I roam; 

Thy green hills e'er glisten with memory's gold, 

And each field and valley a loved spot doth hold. 

Slow winding old Turman flows by 'mongst the trees; 

Wild perfume and bird-song float out on the breeze; 
And green waving meadows and grain growing fields 

Give promise to toilers of plenteous yields. 

The sun sets in clouds of rare gold in the west, 

And all of God's creatures turn homeward for rest; 

I near the old farm-house, my parents in sight. 
And knov/ a glad welcome awaits me tonight. 



59 



TO MY FATHER. 

Dear Father, 1 am dreaming 

Of blissful bygone days, 
The happy time of boyhood 

When thou didst guide my ways; 
And thou my hero wert, 

Thou didst inspire my heart; 
And to thee, my loving Father, 

This praise I must impart. 

Thy labor and protection 

I never can forget, 
And thy earnest admonitions 

Are helpful to me yet; 
I sing this hymn of praise. 

For thou hast blest my ways; 
And may God, my loving Father, 

Prolong and bless thy days. 



60 



TO MY MOTHER. 

Dear Mother, my mother, 

1 wr,ite you a letter. 
For Sunday is Mother's Day; 

However remember 
I love you far better 

Than all of my letters can say. 

To you for my being 

My thanks would I render. 
And thanks for your queenly care; 

For when I was helpless. 
My loving defender, 

My guard was your presence and prayer. 

And thanks for your counsel. 

Both solemn and cheerful. 
That anchored my restless youth; 

For when the obstacles 
Were making me fearful 

You sighted the triumphs of truth. 

1 feel your affection 

That sweetly is shining 
Upon my entire career; 

When burdens are heavy 
There is no declining. 

Your love brings me courage and cheer. 

Dear Mother, my mother. 

Next Sunday is given 
To honor the mothers of earth; 

But daily I'm praying 
The good God of Heaven 

To honor you for your true worth. 



61 



THE BOX-SUPPER. 

(As Told by the Goods-box Historian.) 

Well yonder goes that "Spooney Pickle" Sam! 
"Why call Sam Siner such a name as that?" 
I don't so's he can hear me, 'cause Sam gets 
As mad as seven crazy old bob-cats; 
But lots o' folks jist talks among theirselves, 
An' calls him "Spooney Pickle" sence last year 
When they's a box-supper at Siner school. 

Sam Siner's been a-courtin' Ethel Stein 
For 'bout three years or more, an' she wuz then 
A-teachin' that air school. Now Ethel's sweet. 

And purty too, an' nice, an' ever-thing 

At least Sam Siner thinks she is; an' some 

O' these here other bucks as wish 'at Sam 

An' her ud have a fallin' out, so's they 

Might stand some show. Well Ethel drilled the kids 

An' had 'em give a program for the folks 

Afore the boxes sold, an' ever' one 

Pernounced it grand; but the kertastrophee 

Come afterwhile. She had selected Sam 

To auction off the boxes, 'cause he makes 

It sort o' side profession cryin' sales aroun'. 

An' Sam you know wuz hankerin' for the job 

So's he could tell when Ethel's Box come up. 

An' bid it in; and Ethel knowed his mind. 

And fixed her box up fine with carnations 

An' this crap paper; then filled it plum full 

O' chicken, cake, an' pie, an' jell, an' law! 

I guess that it wuz scrumptuous some! Least ways 

Her brother Jim said so. Jim Stein is jist 

Fourteen an' full uv meanness as kin be, 

An' Ethel she asked Jim to bring her box 

To school that night, an' Jim he says he w^ill; 

And then he goes an' takes all her fine grub, 

An' like the smuggler that he is, he cramnrxed 

It in his stummick. Then he sawed some boards. 

An* wrapped 'em neat an' put 'em in the box. 

An' took two spoons an' tied 'em up with nice 

62 



Pink baby ribbon, then with toothpicks jined 

Two pickles an' laid them in too; then put 

The cover on exactly like it wuz, 

And took the box to school jist when at Sam's 

Begun the auction, an' gives it to him. 

Then he slides out an' goes to his Aunt Jane's 

To stay all night. 

Well, Sam wuz confident 
'At that wuz Ethel's box, and leaves it till 
The middle one to sell, and after some 
Has bid, he starts a-bidden' too, an' all 
The guy says, "Now that's Ethel's box;" but Sam 
Talks like some married woman's fixed it up, 
But still he keeps a-biddin', an' the boys 
Runs it up to five dollars, then they stop 
An' snigger 'mongst theirselves; but Sam 
'Reared satisfied till he seen in that box; 
An' Ethel screams, "Oh, my, that horrid Jim!" 
And ever'body looks an' laughs, an' then 
Ethel begins to cry, an' Sam wuz fightin' mad; 
But nobody ud fight and so they left; 
Director Smith took charge uv things, and put 
The house to rights when supper's through an' all. 

Well next day at Cy Johnson's barber shop, 
Cy and his man wuz laughin' 'bout the thing, 
An' 'lowed they'd call Sam "Spooney Pickle" when 
He come some day, an' in he comes right then! 
Cy's man an' him both hollered out at wunst, 
"Hello, Spooney Pickle Sam!" That wuz all! 
Sam took Cy's man a lick square in the eye 
An' sent him spinnin' at Cy's feet, then kicked 
Him out the road, and knocked Cy 'ginst the wall, 
An' jist took turns a-punchin' up their mugs; 
Till when he left they couldn't see to trim 
A feller's whiskers for a week; an' none 
Has dared to call Sam that 'air nickname sence. 



63 



WHERE I LIKE TO GO. 

I'll tell you where I like to go, 

it's out to Grandma's 'cause you know. 

She's ist the bestest in the biz; 

An* where she lives the jam-pot is. 

My little brother's name, it's Roy, 

An' he's the funniest kind o' boy! 

An' he likes jam as well as me. 

An' he found where 'at jam-pot be, 

He climbed wite in the cupboard, too, 

An' et ist like a monkey do. 

When Grandma found him he wuz red 

Wiv jam from toe to head. 

An' Grandma looked surprised, she did; 

Guess she ain't seen no sich a kid; 

But nen she laughs ist fit to kill. 

An' ever'thing wuz all right till 

Our Ma she seen what hed been done, 

Nen she wuz goin' to spoil the fun; 

But Grandma says, "Leave this to me;" 

She washed an' changed him nen, an' gee! 

She give us boff some bread an' jam. 

I'm goin' back some day I am; 

She's bestest Grandma in the biz. 

An' where she lives the jam-pot is. 



64 



SAMMY AND LEE. 

Two boys climbed down in an old pump-hole, 

Sammy and Lee; 
They had looked around and there wasn't a soul 

In sight to see; 
And they splashed and splashed in the water there, 
Was mud on their clothes and mud in their hair. 
But they had a good time and they didn't care, 

Sammy and Lee. 

Then their Mother came out to find her boys, 

Sammy and Lee; 
And she heard the giggling, splashing noise 

That told their glee. 
And looked in the hole with an awful frown. 
Then said, "Now get up as you got down!" 
And they thought they could climb just like a clown, 

Sammy and Lee. 

But the top was too, high for them to reach, 

Sammy and Lee; 
They couldn't climb out, so they set up the screech, 

And cried, oh gee! 
Then their Mother came back and they promised sure 
That they wouldn't get down there any more. 
And she pulled them up where they were before, 

Sammy and Lee. 



65 



TO A DILATORY CORRESPONDENT. 

If I were in my coffin dead, 
And friends passed by with easy tread, 
And you should write me as you said. 
As you said; 
Although the undertaker did 
Screw down with bolts the oaken lid, 

I think Vd rise, 

1 think I'd rise 

With dead surprise. 

If in the grave my body lay 
Beneath six feet of heavy clay, 
And worms were feeding every day. 

Every day; 
And there should come for me from you 
A letter then I tell you true 

I think I'd rise, 

I think I'd rise 

With dead surprise. 



66 



MY BROTHER JOHN. 

My big brother's name is John, 

An' him and me has mostest fun; 

He maked a Martin house for me, 
And nailed it way up in a tree. 

An' Martins come to live in it, 

But these here Sparr's teased an' fit 

Until the Martins flew away 

To find a peaceful place to stay. 

An' that 'air house all svimmer through 
Was lonesome lookin' like to view; 

But last there come an awful storm, 

An' blowed it down one August morn. 

An' b'lieve me, fellers, if you please. 

The thing was chock up full o' bees! 

Jist then a pig come rootin' round, 

I guess he don't know what he found! 

A bee it stinged him on the snoot, 

An' Mr. Pig agun to root; 
An' 'nother took 'im on the ear; 

He shook his head an' looked as queer; 

An' 'nother popped his hind leg one, 
An' nen he bounce right up an' run; 

An' I ist rolled and laft — oh, my! 
Until I purt near had to cry! 

An' I says, "Now when John comes in, 
I'll have him put that up agin. 

An' never tell him 'bout the bees;" 

An' so 1 asked him and said, *'Please." 

An' he got nails an' hammer too. 

An' I stood off to see 'im through! 

He picked the house right up you know, 
But purty soon he let it go. 



67 



An' yelled an' slapped his-self like mad, 
An' I run in to find my Dad; 

Nen John come in a-stormin' too, 

An' said he'd lick me, what he'd do! 

But Dad tole him the rule to keep 
Was, "Alius look afore you leap." 

My big Brother's name is John, 
An' him an' me has mostest fun. 



68 



WOOING. 

The Honey-suckle richly sweet 
Confers no scent for fashion, 

To tempt the buzzing bee to eat 
Doth satisfy her passion. 

The butter-fly in beauty clad 
That flutters o'er the flower 

Is not so gay because she's glad — 
Her mate is one the bower. 

The lady with her form so fine 
And dress, is also wooing; 

If man is near you can divine 
There's purpose in her doing. 



69 



SPRINGFIELD. 

O Springfield, business Springfield, 
With railroads well supplied, 
With grainfields rich and wide, 
With good on every side, 
What now retards thy tide? 
Why dost thou move so slow? 
Thy fact'ries rarely grow, 
And commerce mopes along 
Much like a funeral song; 
Except in shops of hell 
Where souls and liquor sell. 
Where red-nosed grafters reign 
And gobble up the gain. 

Why fill this dev'lish vulture's craw 
While he contemns thy written law. 
And vomits forth his puke and sin 
For thee to live and labor in? 
Awake to economic sense! 
This useless business is expense. 

O Springfield, wicked Springfield, 
Reputed through our state 
As place w^ith scarce a mate 
For dens of vice so great 
Where crimes accumulate! 
Thy officers but break 
The oaths they have to take; 
They wink at sin and shame 
Of every sort and name; 
The laws our state has made 
With thee are disobeyed. 
And on God's holy day 
Saloons are run full sway. 
Thy blind pigs fatter grow 
As plenty people know; 
And shows so vile and base 
Within thy midst have place 
That only Lust can look; 
But all this dost thou brook 
While young are led astray, 
70 



And harlots have their way, 
And thugs and gamblers lurk 
About to do their work. 
The robbers on thy street, 
The murdered at thy feet, 
And many crimes untold 
Make thee like Sodom old. 

Do not endure her fate; arise 

Ere all the toughs of Illinois 

Shall choose thee for their home. 

And from reforming cities come 

To curse and blight and damn thy hope; 

Pray do not further hellward grope. 

O Springfield, hopeful Springfield, 
Upon the prairie's breast, 
Of Heaven freely blest, 
By Nature queenly dressed, 
Of much that's good possessed, 
Thou home of Lincoln great. 
With splendid halls of state. 
With schools and churches too. 
And homes both good and true, 
And men and w^omen just 
Who fight 'gainst crime and lust; 
In thee God's right is sown, 
But not yet fully grown. 

We pray for thy prosperity. 

We ever work and hope for thee; 

Oh wilt thou see the curse of sin, 

And know that nought but right will win? 

Then shalt thou grow both rich and great, 

And be the jewel of our state. 

1914. 



71 



"WE THE PEOPLE." 

"We the people," what are we? 

Humble heirs of ancestry 
Bred of mingled racial blood. 

Born of evil and of good, 
Trained by Freedom's faithful hand. 

Taught to love our native land; 
"We the people," we are one 

Greatest power beneath the sun. 

"We the people," what have we? 

Nature's rarest treasury. 
Mines of silver and of gold, 

All the best thing earth can hold. 
Fields of fertile soil for grain, 

Grass for grazing on the plain. 
Forests, lakes, and mighty streams, 

Yes, we have the land of dreams. 

"We the people," what do we? 

Why, w^e make the powers that be; 
Authors, artists, men of state, 

The ignoble and the great; 
No man ever held a place 

But he won it by our grace; 
"Free and equal" is our theme, 

"We the people" rule supreme. 



72 



AS TO LYING. 

Is it ever right to lie? 

"Yes," is but the cov\rard's cry 

Who is caught and cannot fly. 

Dare be true: 
Falsehood is both weak and wrong; 
Truth is noble, brave, and strong; 

.Dare be true. 

Some w^ill conjure up a plight 
Where to shield a man they might 
Falsify, and call it right: 

Can you think 
Christ would ever be untrue 
Just to pull some mortal through? 

Can you think? 

If you hear a man declare 

Lies are sometimes right and fair. 

Let me ask you on the square, 

Can you tell 
When he w^ill be true or false 
To yourself or some one else? 

Can you tell? 

If a lie be once proved good. 

Any crime in moral code 

May prove right by that same mode; 

Is there not 
Known to man a standard just 
Firmly facing lie and lust? 

Is there not? 

Yes, God reigns in earth and sky. 
And demands, **Ye shall not lie;" 
Truth will judge us by and by; 

Dare be true. 
Falsehood is the cloak of knave, 
Truth the armor of the brave; 

Dare be true. 



73 



THE PREACHER. 

The preacher is the man 

Who poaches on his neighbor; 
He has an easy plan 

Without a bit of labor; 
And sits around the house, 

Or maybe goes a-fishing, 
As lazy as a louse, 

And all the time a-wishing 
For what he hasn't got 

Because he doesn't hustle — 
He'd have it like as not. 

If he'd get out and rustle. 

But he has willed to stay 

And hear men's joy and sorrow; 
To marry them today 

And bury them tomorrow; 
To help the down-and-out 

That other folks are kicking, 
And run around about 

To keep the Christian sticking; 
To try to right the wrong 

That evil tongues are doing 
By singing love's sweet song 

When factions are a-brewing; 
To fight for civic good 

Against old Lust and Profit, 
And take the pay he should 

When all the high-brows scoff it; 
To wield the Gospel sword 

Each sinful soul to conquer, 
And never say a word 

To hurt the guilty honker; 
From hand to mouth to live. 

And wait, and wait for money; 
No home — to die — forgive; 

But some folks think it's funny. 



74 



A BABY. 

A little life, a floweret sweet, 

God gave into our care; 
But Death has plucked it from our midst 

To bloom with Christ the Fair. 

A little life, a priceless gem, 

Our God bestowed in love; 
But Death has snatched the jewel rare 

That it may shine above. 

A little life, a sunbeam bright, 
God gave to guide us home; 

And from the land of deathless joy 
It beckons us to come. 



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PROPORTIONS. 

All sunshine makes the desert, 
All water makes the sea; 

All gold would starve King Midas 
More soon than poverty. 

All earth would exclude Heaven, 
All Heaven alone were vain; 

All joy we do not merit, 
We do not wish all pain. 

All good we cannot corner, 
All bad we cannot bear; 

But we should thank our Maker 
When we have just our share. 



76 



TO THE "POET OF THE SANGAMON. 

Mr. Nich'Ias Vachel Lindsay, 
Fitting name for poet star; 

Writing this I am to tell you 
'Tis exactly what you are. 

Writers nowadays are many 

Varied too in style and theme; 

Most are passionists or funny 

Few^ are for the things supreme. 

Few have caught the sound of music 
Wafted from the harp of hearts; 

Few are painting scenes eternal, 
Finest of the finer arts; 

Few are brave and true reformers; 

Most of them should be reformed; 
Many could not hold a fortress, 

Even though it had been stormed. 

But your poems, sir, are dif'rent; 

Filled are they with love for men; 
Some are fiery arrows flying 

Into Satan's slimy den. 

Some are breathing richest music, 

Melody to move the soul; 
And like sign-posts all are pointing 

To a high and holy goal. 

Write and write and keep on writing 

Messages that w^ill inspire, 
And as you lift up your brethren 

God will lift you higher, higher. 



n 



ON "LYRICS OF WAR AND PEACE," 
BY WM. DUDLEY FOULKE. 

Here you have made a coronet 
With diction's rarest jewels set: 

The diamonds divinely bright 
Halo the lives of greatest light; 

And pearls adorn the maidens fair 
And nature's beauties everywhere; 

The sapphires gleam to tell of good 
And truth and peace and brotherhood, 

While rubies bleed of sympathy 

For war-maimed men across the sea; 

And emeralds, the ever-green, 
Foretell an endless life, serene. 

Thanks for the crown; 'tis sure to bless 
Each mortal brow that it shall press. 



78 



THE TRANSFIGURATION. 

Sweet summer's velvet robe of verdant hue, 

Designed and scented by the fairest flowers, 

Fell o'er the mountain's rugged sides, and beams 

Of golden glory kissed its folds to bless 

The path of Jesus and disciples three 

Who sought the quietude for private prayer. 

The place attained at length, a temple true. 

By Nature built and carpeted with grass, 

Was walled with rocks and shrubs, and overarched 

By bright ethereal dome. Here Jesus stood 

And prayed; and Peter, man of rock, and James 

And John, the thunder's sons, nearby beheld. 

And as He prayed His face outshone the sun; 

His garments glistened with the whitest light; 

His deity transfigured flesh and blood, 

And holy splendor thrilled the witnesses. 

That prayer the angel hosts bowed down to hear; 

And God threw ope the gates of pearl, and sent 

His prophets, Moses and Elijah, down. 

They came in brightness clad, but pale were they 

Beside the Nazarene, and rev'rently 

They talked with Him of His decease so soon 

To be accomplished. Peter then recalled 

What Jesus said, and his rebuke, and awe 

And love of glory overcame his soul. 

Unstudied he proposed, "Lord it is good 

To be up here; thou willing let us build 

Three tabernacles and remain." Then stood 

The bright Shechinah cloud jvist over them; 

For fear they hid their faces on the ground, 

And God's own voice from out the cloud replied: 

"This is my Son in whom I am w^ell pleased; 

Hear Him." And when they lifted up their eyes, 

The prophets gone, they saw but Jesus there. 

Whom Heaven glorified, and prophets blessed. 

And God proclaimed His Son that all should hear, 

And having heard, obtain eternal life. 



79 



MY PRAYER. 

Father, forgive thine erring one; 
Forgive my evil, said or done; 
Forgive my failures to do good; 
Forgive my hurt of those 1 should 
Uplift and cheer along life's rugged way. 

Dear Lord, increase my love for Thee; 
Increase my love for man; give me 
Increase of zeal and motives pure; 
Increase my strength; help me endure 
To save lost souls, through Jesus Christ. 

Amen. 



80 



